A Veil of Hypocrisy
by ALoversDream
Summary: Post-Hogwarts Wizard Marriage Laws leave people bitter and wishing for now forbidden relationship. Hypocrisy covers their lives. Draco/Hermione/Harry/OC. All credit for characters goes to Ms. Rowling.


He slipped out of her bed as quietly as he had appeared at her door. Gathering his clothes swiftly, silently, he crossed the room to the chair in the corner, tossing the pile of fabric over the arm while he dressed quickly. But then she spoke. "Do you hate me as much as I hate myself?" He stopped dressing, and stood up straight, his gaze catching hers in the ornate mirror hanging in front of him. Through the moonlight streaming in the windows to his right, he could just barely catch the dried tear tracks down her cheeks. Her dark hair was splayed across the pillows and her bare shoulders were just visible above the sheets. He let out a heavy sigh and slowly resumed dressing.

He had known this conversation was coming; however, it didn't make him dread it any less. Because now that it was being had whatever it was that they had here, or lack thereof, was over. It was a shame, really. He had been enjoying their time together. Pulling on his dress pants, zipping and buttoning, he didn't answer. He pulled on his dress shirt, buttoning it swiftly with nimble fingers before tucking it in, tightening his belt and searching for his tie. It was draped haphazardly across the lamp in the corner. Sighing heavily, he retrieved it before taking his place back in front of the mirror and tying it was precision. Then stooping to grab his socks and shoes, he sat on the end of her bed and paused.

The truth was, he loved her. The way she laughed when he tried to impress her. The way she blushed when he found the upper hand in an argument. The way she cared so fervently about his company. The way she wasn't afraid to stand her ground and tell people when they were wrong. Her fire. Her fierceness. Her compassion. Her secret keeping. And Merlin forbid he forget to mention her body. She was everything he had dreamed he had wanted, but everything he couldn't have. The Ministry had made sure of that. Instead, they had given him someone who despised his touch. Shuddered every time he attempted to be kind. Believe it or not, he did have the capacity to be kind. She had already cheated on him once and he had suspected she was at it again. She just couldn't keep her hands off The Golden Boy. No matter how much she claimed he was just her best friend, he wasn't sleeping with Pansy. She lied to his face and got mad when he asked if he should be worried about her actions. She would scream and yell and cry, the whole while making it obviously apparent how much she hated him.

As he sat in silence, he felt the tension behind him building. He could nearly taste it. He hadn't spoken in the several minutes it took him to dress and think about how he felt about her. Really, truly felt. When he heard her shift behind him to sit up, and heard the way she was holding her breath in fear, hope and anticipation, he remembered why he hated her.

She was needy and controlling. She was jealous. Her face would flame if someone even teased that she and her boss were flirting, an obvious giveaway that something was happening. He had discussed and pleaded and even threatened that she stop being so obvious at meetings, but she was like a puppy. Desperate for attention. Several times, when she had been in his office, his wife had been seconds away from finding out what was going on between them. And as for his wife, he loved her on occasion. On days she decided not to hate him, she was warm and open. She knew his favorite things and how to make him feel like a child again. And she could be beautiful. Dark chocolate eyes that begged to be loved. On those days, he didn't come over to the second apartment. It wasn't necessary.

Heaving another sigh, he pulled his socks on, then slipped his feet in his shoes, lacing them tightly. He looked up, catching another glimpse of the two of them framed in the mirror. She was pleading, hopeful and terrified. He was cold. As she reached over to wrap her arms around his shoulders, he stood, slipping out of her grasp. She had reached the moment of self-deprecation that he seemed to imprint on people. And now that she had slipped over the line of knowing that she was never going to reasonably be first in his life, he had to end this. What a shame. Grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair, he swung it on, checking his reflection in the mirror before finally answering her question. "Yes."

She crumpled into a ball and right before her hands covered her face, he saw how broken she looked. He felt his nerve start to crack until he heard her crying. He immediately grit his teeth, his hands clench. He hated crying. "That's enough," he stated coldly. "We won't be needing you to come in on Monday. Or at all. It's been a pleasure working with you." And turning on his heel, he walked out her door and down the hallway. Stepping out into the crisp fall air, Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet photographers flew into action, their cameras flashing brilliantly in the dark.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy! Who were you meeting with?" "Was it a woman?" "Draco, where's your wife?" "How's business?"

He stalked past them silently, a ghost of a smile etched across his face. It was really was a shame he was having to let her go. She had been lovely. But the neediness, the constant desire to be assured was getting old. He ignored the photographers until they finally drifted off into the night, grumbling about his refusal to speak. Then slipping past his down doorman, up his own stairs and unlocking his own front doors, he walked as softly as possible through the hallways of his home, listening and waiting. And there it was. A male voice too mature to be his son's. Flinging open the bedroom door he shared with his wife, he waved his wand and lights flickered on, exposing his wife tangled around The Golden Boy. "What a surprise," he announced with a smirk.

The looks on their faces were priceless, really. Guilt and shock. Fear. He paused for a moment, letting his smile slip away, back into his cold mask. "Leave. Now." The Golden Boy scrambled for his clothes, muttering apologies and promises to owl his wife. But he laughed suddenly. "You won't be owling her. Or seeing her. Leave." And as the dark haired man hurried towards the door, the fair-haired man turned towards his wife and uttered a single inquiry, his eyes cold. "Do you hate me as much as I hate myself?"


End file.
